


Who Watches The Watchmen?

by yodasyoyo



Series: 1008 tumblr followers! A.K.A. The Fluffy Assholes Collection. [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: Slowly. Ever so slowly, Stiles works his way down from the nightmare.This is what’s real.This is the truth.This room.The wolf, it’s chest rising and falling under Stiles’ fingers. It’s breath damp against his skin.





	Who Watches The Watchmen?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts), [Faladrast (surfgirl1)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfgirl1/gifts).



> Written for my 1008 followers celebration! Based on two prompts one from Rieraclelin: “Why do you do that?” - “Do what?” - “Talk about yourself like you’re some kind of … thing.” I couldn't get the dialogue to quite work like that, but I hope got the essence of it!  
> The other a banner that by faladrast, which is embedded at the top of this fic! It's pretty awesome :D
> 
> I'm only planning to write/post one more fic in this series as this week comes to a close! I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have guys :D

  _Awesome Banner by Faladrast_

 

It’s been six weeks since the Nogitsune was defeated. Six weeks with Stiles wrung out, every nerve scraped thin. Not eating. Not really speaking. Distant from Scott and his dad, unable to look Lydia in the eye, absent from pack meetings. Feeling less a person, and more a tightly wound collection of guilt and anxiety existing in an increasingly sleep-deprived skin.   
  
He doesn’t really know how he’s going to keep going.

Then, at the start of the sixth week Stiles startles from the beginnings of a nightmare to find a wolf in his bed.

He’d been in that twilight of not quite awake that he seemed to inhabit so easily these days. Never fully sleeping, never quite able to allow himself to give up that much control. He dozed lightly if he slept at all.

In his dreams he saw Allison again. Her blank staring eyes. Her face pale and still. When he jolts awake he’s sweating, heart pounding. He doesn’t scream though; he’s long past the point of calling out for help.  

Sitting up in bed, with nothing but the red glow from his digital alarm clock lighting the room, he feels the weight of the wolf on his legs before he sees it. But as his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light he can make it out. It’s big and black, it’s fur thick, claws wickedly sharp. It’s curled over his feet and legs, tail tucked under its nose, a warm, heavy weight.

Still Stiles doesn’t scream.

Doesn’t make a sound.

Just slowly reaches out a hand, heart still hammering in his chest, and sinks his fingers into the thick ruff of fur at its neck.

It opens its eyes and looks at him steadily, and Stiles looks back. Then, as he watches, it leans into his touch and closes its eyes.

It’s tail thumps once. Twice. Three times. Then it stills.

“Huh.” Stiles murmurs. “This is new.”

He fusses it a while, feels his heartbeat start to slow. That pressure in his chest start to ease. When he finally drifts back into that state of half sleep again, he’s aware of the wolf lying across his legs, anchoring him to the bed.

For once he doesn’t dream.

-

This is Stiles’ life since the Nogitsune: No sleep. Limited food. Body in a constant state of exhaustion. Mind in a constant state of vigilance.

He can’t let his guard down.

Not even for a second.

The last time he did something snuck into his dreams and took away his control. His choices. Took every callous word or thought he’d ever said or had and turned them into blood-soaked reality. Up until that point he thought actions were what mattered. That as long as you did the right thing what you said, what you thought, didn’t matter.

Now he’s careful. Second guessing himself at every turn.

Now he’s quiet, because he knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness.

He can’t be weak. Can’t allow himself any vulnerability.

And sleep? Sleep makes him vulnerable. One of many vulnerabilities his possession had exposed.

Up until the Nogitsune he’d considered himself to be a safe pair of hands. Steady. Loyal. Keeping a watch over Scott and the pack.

Now Stiles spends his nights trying to keep a watch on his own mind.

Who watches the watchmen?

Stiles has learned the hard way that it’s nobody good. 

-

When he wakes the morning after the wolf’s first visit, it’s gone, and Stiles would think it was a dream but there are stray strands of black fur on his comforter.

For a brief moment he wonders if it’s Scott, but at school the next day Scott doesn’t mention anything. They sit together at lunch, opposite each other, not side by side, and he asks how Stiles is. Asks if he’s sleeping any better. He talks about Kira, guilt edging his words. Like Stiles would judge him. Like he could.

Scott doesn’t mention acquiring the ability to transform into a giant wolf though, or using it to sneak into Stiles’ room.

And of course, neither of them mention Allison.

-

That night Stiles has almost convinced himself that the previous evening was all a really vivid dream. He finally settles himself in bed well past midnight. Turns out the light and lays there in the dark quiet of the room with nothing but guilt and fear for company.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until the shadows in his room stop being shadows and start to grow longer, deeper, darker, stretching out past him and through him into the infinite distance. The door to his room creaks open slowly, and as Stiles watches a hand appears, clutching the edge of the door, grimy and dirty, it’s fingernails cracked and broken, knuckles bloody. Like whoever owns it just dug themselves out of their own grave.

A dusty laugh echoes in the distance.

He wakes with a start to find the wolf leaning over him, and gasps, scrambles backwards up the bed on his elbows, his heels digging into the soft mattress.

“Don’t do that!” he says, glaring at it.

It blinks at him, then leans forward and licks his arm in apology.

Stiles is panting. Breathing hard. Fingers tangled in his sheets.

The wolf nudges it’s head under one hand and slowly he takes the hint. Starts to pet it. Rubs the silky fur of it’s ears between his fingers, and feels some of the tension trickle away.

“Shit,” he says, swiping his free hand across his face. It’s damp. He’s crying. He hadn’t even realized. “Shit,” he mutters again.

The wolf whines a little.

“Okay. It’s okay.” He shuffles along a bit to make room. “Y’wanna get in?”

The wolf hesitates a moment, but then jumps easily up on to the bed and lies down next to Stiles. The length of its body pressed up against his. It’s muzzle level with his shoulder. It rolls it’s head a little, angles it so it’s buried against Stiles’ chest.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, Stiles works his way down from the nightmare.

This is what’s real.

This is the truth.

This room.

The wolf, it’s chest rising and falling under Stiles’ fingers. It’s breath damp against his skin.

Soon, without realizing it, Stiles’ breathing begins to even out, matching the wolf’s. His eyes begin to drift shut.

Sleep starts to find him again.

This time he doesn’t wake until the sun has risen, and once again, when he does, the wolf is gone.

-

It goes on like that. Night after night after night. Week in. Week out.

The wolf comes to his room in the night. Lies next to him. Anchors him. Watches over him. Steady and unerring. Like a symbol of hope or a symptom of some great truth Stiles can’t quite discern.

While the wolf is there though, Stiles feels safe. The nightmares are kept at bay, and Stiles allows himself the luxury of sleep.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he starts to lose the bags under his eyes, his skin starts to pink again. He starts to feel alive and not just awake.

He feels his relationship with Scott start to slip back into familiar rhythms and routines. Forever altered, but still recognizable. He does his homework. He talks to Lydia. He starts to attend weekly pack meetings at Derek’s apartment, and while he doesn’t talk as much as he might once have done, he’s there.

He never talks about the wolf to anyone. Doesn’t dare. It feels as though if he talks about it, the spell will be broken and the wolf will disappear.

He thinks about it though. Knows, or thinks he knows, who it is.

After all, there’s only one person who might begin to understand what it’s like to be used to hurt the ones they love so profoundly.

He feels it sometimes at those pack meetings: The way Derek watches him, the weight of his stare. And he thinks it feels familiar.

Comforting.

-

It isn’t until about a month in, when his dad is working nights, and Stiles has woken from the worst nightmare he’s had in ages, that his suspicions are confirmed.

He wakes screaming. Crying out for help. Clawing at his sheets, his voice hoarse.

The wolf is there when he opens his eyes, standing by his bed, front paws resting on the mattress, whining, pawing at him frantically. But the tendrils of the dream are still entwined around him, he’s buried deep in the horror of his own memories and the wolf can’t seem to reach him.

It’s then that it happens. That strange blurring, crunching  transformation, that Stiles can barely register, and then Derek Hale is crouched there. Bare-chested and unashamed. Kneeling by his bed, leaning over him.

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles,” he chants, an endless litany. “Come on, Stiles. Come back. Come on.”

Derek’s hands hover nervously, arms outstretched, and Stiles falls into them sobbing with relief.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs, still knelt up against the bed. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Stiles knows, without a shadow of a doubt, the truth of that.

-

Later when he’s calmed enough to be embarrassed by his own behavior, and Derek has borrowed a pair of sweatpants from his drawer, they sit next to each other on the edge of the bed. Stiles left knee knocking against Derek’s right, arms brushing together.

“I knew it was you,” Stiles tells him.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Derek sighs. Looks down at his hands. “A few weeks back I heard you say something to Scott. I’d been worried anyway. We all were. But the way you spoke about yourself. Like you were a thing. Not a human being. I–” He shrugs.

“It felt like that,” Stiles admits. “Sometimes it still does. Like I wasn’t real anymore. Not a person. Not one that was worth anything, anyway. Like I was looking in on myself. Watching myself do stuff, but disconnected–”

“Yeah. I know. I know that feeling.”

Stiles knows he knows. “Thanks,” he says.

Derek almost smiles. “That’s okay.”

“Will you–” Stiles swallows. “Will you keep coming back?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

“Good.” He nudges their shoulders together and then sighs. It occurs to him that for the first time in weeks, he’s feeling hungry. “How do you feel about grilled cheese sandwiches?”

Derek does smile then. “I feel pretty good,” he says.

Maybe it will be okay, Stiles thinks. Maybe it can be if the watchmen watch each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who leaves kudos or comments. It's really appreciated. 
> 
> Come join me on [tumblr!](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, a disclaimer about the title of this series of fics:  
> When I say fluffy assholes, I don't mean buttholes covered in lint. I mean that these fics are fluffy and the characters are assholes. I feel this needs to be stated. For the record, my tumblr followers are all awesome, and to my knowledge, in no way assholes, fluffy or otherwise.
> 
> The banner was made by Faladrast and you can find their tumblr [here!](http://www.faladrast.tumblr.com/)


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